Munkustrap flopped backwards onto the quilted throw, one arm slug haphazardly across his eyes. "I don't know about you, but I think I'm through with dealing with my immediate family for at least a fortnight."

Skimbleshanks laughed out loud, a little too loose on champagne and whiskey. "Even little Jemima? I'll tell her you said that. She'll be so hurt."

Munkustrap whined, "No, of course not. She can stay. Tugger and Bomba, however..."

"I can't imagine what they were like at their own wedding."

"Much worse, if that's even believable." Munkustrap slid his arm aways from his face and laid both paws across his chest, twiddling with the brass buttons on his vest. "I think I might have been the only sober one there."

Another laugh erupted from Skimbleshanks' direction. "Poor wee lad," he cooed, shrugging out of his suit jacket and picking at the knot in his tie. "Such a steep price dear Munkustrap has to pay for being sensible." With his tie neatly rolled up and his vest already half unbuttoned, Skimbleshanks nudged the melodramatic Munkustrap with his knee on his way to the bathroom. "Get your suit off, then. I'm tired, and I don't plan on waiting for hours in bed while you undress."

"In a minute..." Munkustrap held his right paw above his face. The golden band on his ring digit glinted warmly in the dim bedroom glow; happiness bloomed deep in Munkustrap's chest, tickling his ribs with its fragrant petals. "I'm... basking."

"Basking?" Skimbleshanks' voice was distant, muffled by the wall between them, but Munkustrap could still distinctly hear his incredulousness.

"It's not every day one gets the honor of marrying the love of their nine lives."

Skimbleshanks, his words still a little faint, mumbled around the bristles of his toothbrush, "Didn't you bask enough at the ceremony?"

"It's not the same when everyone else is there, too." Munkustrap spread his arms wide across the bedspread. "Sure, the ceremony was lovely, and we got to dance..." he nearly lost his train of thought as the fond memories flooded his brain. He shook his head a little, "But, it's only just... occurred to me. I just got married; I have a husband."

"What a coincidence!" Munkustrap peered across the room to see Skimbleshanks standing in the doorway to the ensuite, clad in tartan pajamas and smiling from ear to ear. He deposited the pair of neatly folded dress trousers that was slung across his arm onto a stray clothes hanger swinging in the closet, then loomed over Munkustrap, hands clasped behind his back. "I just so happen to have one of my own."

Skimbleshanks' smile was infectious; Munkustrap didn't fight back a warm grin of his own. "Really?" He whispered, "You're a lucky tom. What's he like?"

"Hmm, let me think..." Skimbleshanks perched on the edge of the mattress. He pawed through the thick fur on Munkustrap's cheeks, fiddling with his whiskers. "He's irresistably charming. Handsome to boot." He reached for Munkustrap's hand and brought it to his face, brushing the wedding band over his lips. "He has a voice like Everlasting herself. He is limitlessly kind and headstrong." The ginger tabby pressed a kiss to his new husband's knuckles, "And I love him very much."

Munkustrap's heart thudded against his ribs. "Skimbleshanks..."

"He'll also be labled a lazy-arse if he doesn't get a move on and come to bed in the next ten minutes." Skimbleshanks flung Munkustrap's arm across his chest, abruptly standing and scooting around to his side of the bed.

"I thought we were having a moment!" Munkustrap whined, pushing himself upwards on his elbows.

"And we'll have several more once you've washed up for bed." Skimbleshanks managed a very convincing no-nonsense tone despite still being mildly tipsy. He held aloft his pocket watch, which he always kept on his bedside table at night, next to his reading glasses and brass alarm clock, and swung it teasingly from his claws. "Tick tock, Munkus dear."

Munkustrap groaned playfully, hauling himself off of the quilt. "Spoilsport," he muttered, under his breath.

"I heard that!"

"You were supposed to."

Six minutes later (a new record, as far as Munkustrap was concerned) the pair of newlyweds were sat up neatly in bed, nestled shoulder to shoulder. Skimbleshanks peered thoughtfully at a novel he was halfway through reading, his spectacles perched percariously on the end of his nose. Munkustrap absently read along, his head pillowed in the dip between Skimbleshanks' shoulder and collarbone.

"I thought you said you were tired," Munkustrap yawned, tugging at the collar of his blue plaid pajama shirt.

"You'd be right." Skimbleshanks idly flipped a page. Deciding that whatever came next in the story could wait until tomorrow, he slid a leather bookmark between the pages. With glasses removed and placed neatly atop the now-forgotten novel, he slid down deeper under the covers, ignoring Munkustrap's disgruntled yelp as he was dragged along with him until they were face-to-face.

"I love you so much, my dearest friend," Skimbleshanks murmured, brushing his palm against Munkustrap's jaw.

"I am one who loved not wisely, but too well." The silver tom nuzzled into the touch, sighing deeply in a way that only those who are truly content can.

Skimbleshanks leaned back, catching the chain on his bedside lamp and flooding the little room in warm darkness. Munkustrap heard his head nestle back into his pillow, felt the breaths on his face gradually slow and fall to slumber. He rolled onto his back and stared blankly up at the ceiling, waiting for his own breathing to join the cadence of his husband's.

It never did.